


Writing Practice

by Plate



Category: Original Work, Practice - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 23:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20938658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plate/pseuds/Plate
Summary: Just some miscellaneous shorts and snips I've written.





	1. Chapter 1

A fistful of harmless fire was all he needed to see, Tyrian pouring his attention over every letter. Documents upon documents were strewn across the surface of a library table, which Cyril spent a generous amount of elbow grease to polish.

Tunnel vision consumed him long ago.

In fact, it’d been five hours since the dinner bell fell on his deaf ears. Despite the sky’s leisurely transition from daylight to looming darkness, Tyrian still hardly paid the time any mind. He dragged a hand through disheveled hair, sweeping back the locks who hindered his eyes. All continued in this way for minutes more, stopped only by a furious twitch in his wrist.

His reading light flickered in time with his concentration, leaving the room completely moonlit for but a moment. To Raius, who let herself inside a second prior, it felt as though she’d crossed over into a world, not of her own.

The light reformed in an instant—burgeoning wisps danced in the air before colliding into something stable, floating beside the silhouette of a seated figure.

Its twinkle never left her eyes.

By then, he had already shrugged off the distraction. Chip after chip, Tyrian continued making dents in the pounds of paperwork that still remained. His head drowned again in the ocean he’d been given, far too engrossed in his task to notice her approach. And she, engrossed by the vision before her, stopped her advance to indulge in it all. Narcissus himself- drawn to his reflection in the pits of a pond- would be flattered by how intensely Tyrian mimicked him: downcast gaze, hunkered over, a spell on his eyes.


	2. depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Project prompt from my Economics class! (write a story about the effects of decreasing investment, etc.)  
It turned out much better than I thought, so I've decided to post it.

Julius found himself everywhere and nowhere all at once, a vortex of dust rippling through the air as a tiny pink slip fell from his hands. He was confused and dizzy, but understood reality in terrifying clarity. His mind raced faster than the thumping heartbeats of those that looked on from beyond the windows. When the company’s pruning had begun, Julius was on the other side of that hurricane proof window, safely looking inside as he sipped a rather bland and stale cup of coffee that he’d filched from the break room. Now, he was the one trapped inside his boss’ office- the lion’s den.

Snip- went their shears- slicing through his only lifeline. Dead leaves must be cut away.  
According to the higher ups, the past six months spelled disaster for the branch company’s future. Lay-offs began soon after the country had announced that they were beginning to increase imports even further than the massive amount that it already allowed, companies finding welcome relief in their fat folds at the prospect of outsourcing for a profit. The glorified idea of cheaper labor overseas and the ominous winds that told of an economic storm had convinced several companies to pack up and go, leaving their mainland bases to crumble apart— this much he was aware of. His coworkers had vanished from their desks one by one, last seen packing their boxes.

Julius felt ill.

A hole gnawed itself into his stomach, quickly filling itself with a cesspool of worry, dread, fear, panic, and a strange brew of bad feelings. The floor wobbled beneath him as his train of thought derailed in but a moment. Wavering eyes focused on the pink blur on the floor, the vision before him flitting in and out of clarity. His brain could no longer work and his mouth dared not speak.

Entranced by the glint of gold, Julius’ gaze rose from the pink slip up to the nameplate that adorned the desk of none other than Osiris Hoffman, president of KineTech. The aforementioned weather-worn, browbeaten man seated before the heaving Julius tapped on his desk, a beautifully carved (and elegantly stained) slab of wood, and repeated what he had just said to Julius one more time as the young man he’d just fired staggered backwards once again. 

His patience quickly wore thin as the seconds stretched on.

“Mr. Dires. Remove yourself from my office, if you please.”

Painstakingly, as if he had forgotten his Advil, President Hoffman rose from the depths of his plush, cushiony chair. Once kindly, President Hoffman’s expression grew hardened while the old man’s mouth set itself into a thin line.

“You are fired.”

A lurch in his gut told him he was falling, and the warmth fled from his face.

Julius’ eyes suddenly snapped open. He was a home- more or less, disgracefully dumped own his doorstep. His limbs, sore and throbbing, shook as he hefted himself off the front porch, which he noticed to be now littered with broken glasses and poorly discarded bottles. Grasping for the doorknob granted him nothing more than a headache as Julius finally looked down at himself.

The pungent smell of alcohol pooled around him and dripped freely off his clothes, as if it could condense into smog at any moment. His work shirt, once a cheerful, perky blue was frayed and stained with grease and poor life decisions that spilled out onto the tattered sleeves.

It was only three months ago that he had been fired, yet the memories that haunted his dreams never seemed to lose their vivacity. Tearing his gaze away from the remains of his favorite shirt, he blinked, once and again, realizing that a chill had set itself upon the world. The wind rattled trees and the rare passerby as he stared into the distance for an eternity.

He wobbled to his feet with great difficulty and stead himself against the door to his house which- as it stood- was the only decent looking part of his home’s façade. Grunting, Julius entered his decrepit abode with a click of the lock and a painfully long twist of the doorknob. His home had become filthy frightfully fast.

Grime and dirty dishes littered every available table and tray. Through the sound of blood rushing to his head, he thought he could hear the sounds of the living room TV rumble just out of range.

“-As you all may know,” a female reporter smiled on screen, “our nation’s GDP of recent has been rapidly falling. Price levels, as expected, have also shrunk- but major blows to the workforce have greatly crippled what the nation’s present- if not future- holds, as far as recovery is concerned.”

A desperate swig of whiskey slid past Julius’ lips, a series of angry shouts and swears rising to and beyond his chapped and faded lips. Impervious to the profanity and violent swears she could not hear, the reporter lady continued on with her story.

“Today, the senate has passed judgement on several fiscal actions that, as chief economic adviser Hugh Havoc has guaranteed the public, will finally turn the economic downturn around. Here with us today, we have-“

The picture dipped to black, switching almost instantly to static.

Another swig filled Julius with a sweet shudder and a pounding hangover that drowned out the raging black and white blaze that lit the television.

The cable company had finally brushed him off, as one would a leech. Nothing would change for him unless his will to work and live suddenly returned from the ashes where it had burned away.

A pitiful guffaw echoed through the room, cut short as Julius paused to finish the rest of his whiskey bottle. He took a ragged breath and chucked the bottle at the rumbling television, shattering like a dream.

Julius buried his face in his hands.


End file.
